


Word of the Day: Tattoo

by Calacious



Series: January in February [12]
Category: Sesame Street (US TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Crack, Daddy!Big Bird, Foul Language, Little!Elmo (he's an adult), M/M, No Sex, Not Kid Friendly, Tattoos, everyone's all grown up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: Oscar runs a tattoo parlor with his partner Slimey on Sesame Street. You would not believe the characters that come into his shop some days.
Relationships: Big Bird (Sesame Street)/Elmo (Sesame Street), Oscar the Grouch (Sesame Street)/Slimey the Worm (Sesame Street) Implied
Series: January in February [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139471
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: Ficuary





	Word of the Day: Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Tattoo
> 
> When I spun the wheel, it gave me Bert and Ernie, but this is what happened instead of something light and fluffy.

“T is for, can you guess it, kiddos?” Oscar says in his rough voice. One of his scruffy eyebrows is raised, and he glares at the kids who are walking past his shop, the Trash Can Tattoo Parlor.

“No, Mr. Grouch, what is T for?” one of the kids is brave enough to ask.

“Tattoo, dumbass, can’t you read the fucking sign?” Oscar shakes his head, and takes a puff of his cigar. “Scram. Get outta here, this ain’t no place for dumbass kids.”

“Sorry, Mr. Grouch!” the brave kid says, waving as he makes a hasty retreat down the street, his friends following quickly after.

“Yo, yo, yo, Mistah Grouch, how’s it hangin’ man?” Slimey slides up to Oscar, and gives the green puppet his version of a fist bump.

“A little to the left today, Slimey,” Oscar says.

Slimey nods his head and gives his boss a wicked smile. “All good, all good.”

A Harley roars to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust that has both Oscar and Slimey coughing, and waving at the thick dust. There’s a big bird dressed in a leather jacket, and a little red dude, also wearing a leather jacket, sitting behind him.

“This is it,” the big bird says. “The best tattoo shop in the city.”

“Looks like a dump,” the little red dude says, giggling in a way that Oscar knows means the kid’s on some kind of drug. Probably meth or cocaine.

“You don’t like the looks of my place, you can leave,” Oscar says, taking another puff on his cigar. He needs another whiny, punk ass customer the way he needs testicular cancer.

The little red guy giggles in a manic way, and Oscar wants to take out the gun he keeps beneath the counter in case of robberies and shoot him. The big bird frowns at his friend and urges him to be quiet.

“Look, you two wanna tattoo or not?” Slimey asks, already irritated with the giggling and the big buffoon’s failed attempts at getting his friend under control.

“Oh, yes, Sir,” the big bird says, bobbing his head.

“You wanna tattoo, get your pal to shut the fuck up with the giggling,” Oscar says, pointing his cigar at the giggling loon.

“Elmo, stop,” the big bird says, and the giggling carries on for a couple of seconds that seem interminable before they finally cut off so abruptly that Oscar wonders if the guy died.

  
“I don’t work on fuckers when they’re high,” Oscar says. It’s one policy that he sticks to; too many people return trying to get their money back after getting a tattoo that they regret once they’re sober. It’s not worth the headache.

The big bird’s eyes grow huge and he starts shaking his head. It makes him look like an overgrown bobblehead.

“Oh, he’s not on drugs,” the yellow bird says. “Honest, Mister. This is just how he is.”

Oscar raises a skeptical brow, and Slimey snorts, the red guy giggles, and quickly stops when the bird gives him a stern look. When the bird reaches into his jacket and pulls out a wad of cash, Oscar waves it away.

“Put that away, you tryin’ to get shot?” Slimey asks. “Fuck.”

“Come on in,” Oscar says, leading the way into the shop. Even though he’s not one hundred percent certain that Elmo isn’t high as a kite right now, the big bird’s got a lot of cash, and Oscar’s more than willing to take it.

Elmo’s giggles echo in the alley as he follows them into the shop.

“If you don’t shut your friend up, I will,” Slimey says, and Oscar chuckles when the big bird swallows and nods, and leans down to whisper in his friend’s ear.

Elmo’s eyes grow big, and he nods. The giggles stop, and the little guy clamps his lips shut. The quiet is blissful, and Oscar hopes it will last.

“Oh, Elmo is getting excited,” the little guy says, but he doesn’t giggle.

“Who the fuck talks about themselves in the third person?” Oscar asks, not expecting or wanting an answer.

He gets one anyway. “I can ask him to stop if you want,” the big bird says.

“Fuck me,” Oscar mutters, running a hand down his face.

He tamps out his cigar and settles into his chair while Elmo looks in wonder at all of the artwork on the walls, and the bird peers at the tattoo art in the books that Oscar has. Normally, Tele’s here by now, but the big red guy’s running late, and Oscar has a feeling that he’ll need to work on Elmo’s tattoo himself.

“You see something you like?” Oscar asks when Elmo makes a high pitched squealing sound that makes Oscar and Slimey wince.

Elmo tugs on the big bird’s arm, and drags him over to a picture of a green dragon. A beautiful piece. One that will take both Oscar and Slimey to recreate on the red fellow.

“What do you think?” Elmo asks the bird in a shy voice. “Can Elmo get this one, daddy?”

The bird smiles and pats his friend on the head. “It’s perfect,” he says.

It’s not until Oscar’s setting up his station that he realizes what Elmo had called the big bird, and he scratches his head. Suddenly, it’s clear why the little guy was giggling, and speaking in the third person, and being an overall pain in the ass. Elmo is a little.

Whatever floats their boat. Oscar keeps his thoughts to himself, he’s seen all kinds come through his shop, and he is (despite being called, and rightfully so, a grouch) a fairly non-judgmental guy. It’s not his kink, but live and let live has always been a philosophy that’s worked well for him.

“Where do you want the tattoo?” he asks the bird, earning a smile from Elmo and his partner.

“Right here,” the bird turns his partner and touches a spot on the guy’s lower back. It won’t hurt as much as some areas that the bird could have chosen, so Oscar’s fairly certain that pain isn’t part of their kink, which he counts as a win. He might not judge, but it’s no picnic working on guys who get off on pain.

Oscar and Slimey set to work on the tattoo, and the bird keeps up a steady chatter with his partner, occasional giggles and hisses of pain accompany their words. It’s not as bad as Oscar had feared it would be when the two had roared up on the Harley. Tele comes in and starts working on a tattoo addict named Animal, and everything settles into an easy rhythm that is comfortable.

Time passes far quicker than Oscar had thought it would, and while Slimey applies a bandage to the tattoo site, Oscar talks to the bird about aftercare. The bird pays close attention, nods at the right places, and then pays.

“Bye, Mr. Oscar. Bye, Slimey,” Elmo says in a childlike voice as he skips out of the shop. The big bird follows at a much slower pace. And Oscar swears he can hear Elmo say, "Tickle me, Daddy," just outside of the door to their shop. There’s a sappy smile on the big bird's face, and Oscar’s hit with a sudden desire to give Slimey a kiss. He quickly tamps down that urge, and shakes himself from his thoughts. There's no hanky-panky in the shop.


End file.
